


Silent Nights Are Boring

by glitterprison



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Pitch Perfect 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5475659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterprison/pseuds/glitterprison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe thinks it’d be a great idea to put their six-month-old daughter inside a stocking and hang it over the fireplace for their Christmas card picture. Beca, on the other hand, has mixed feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Nights Are Boring

“Chloe, this does not seem like the greatest idea you’ve ever had, and, maybe, we should reconsider…” Beca’s words were staccato as she spoke, her hands moving with them in the air, following her wife’s every move. Anxiety was practically shooting through her fingertips like lasers as she stood behind Chloe, who was currently attempting to fit their six-month-old _daughter_ into her new stocking that was _hanging_ above the fireplace. 

While Beca was having a mild panic attack over the entire situation, Chloe was as cool as a cucumber. She was _so_ stuck on the idea of how “cute” it’d be to have their child hang out inside her stocking for this year’s Christmas card she hadn’t even allowed for any of Beca’s commentary, though that didn’t stop the brunette from putting in her two cents anyway, to deter her. In the end, other suggestions were simply out of the question because having their baby poking out of the stocking was “absolutely adorable” and — somehow — “completely original.” It was already the “cutest picture of all time” and a "Christmas card they'd never top" even though said picture didn’t exist yet. 

All Beca could do was stand by, hold her breath, and wait. 

“She’s going to be fine, Becs, I promise. I practically super-glued her stocking’s hook to the mantle,” Chloe said, though unsurprisingly, that didn't put Beca at ease. The impossible, yet very possible, scenarios were inevitably panning out in her head, with images of the hook snapping despite Chloe’s fail-safe, or the stocking ripping and their daughter slipping right through the fabric. They were going to have to take a trip to the emergency room, and their child was going to end up brain damaged, or worse, before her first Christmas. Thoughts along those lines continued, torturing her imagination.

“I believe you, but accident’s happen, y’know…” Beca trailed off, her deep blue eyes meeting her daughter’s hazel ones. More than anything, she was amazed that the little girl wasn’t screaming. Instead, her tiny, little features held a look of confusion mixed with curiosity. Occasionally, she’d tilt her head while looking up at Chloe as if she were asking, “What are you doing to me, Mom?” Then, she’d look up to Beca, like she was searching for some type of confirmation. 

“Why don’t we just, like, lay her down on the floor?” Beca asked, when Chloe struggled to get _both_ of their daughter’s legs inside the opening. One of them was just sort of hanging out over the edge — a position that didn’t look safe or comfortable. “She can still chill inside the stocking, it’ll just be… not five feet above the ground.” Nor would it be five feet above brick concrete, nonetheless. "We could get somebody to photoshop it."  


Stepping in towards her, Beca assisted the redhead in successfully placing their child into the stocking, limbs included, because her worries were still falling on deaf ears. Although, with a bit of wiggling, their poor baby was eventually able to free a hand and reach out over the edge and grab onto a few strands of Beca’s hair. Beca pulled a slight face at the bit of discomfort it caused, but turned her head to kiss the little one’s fingertips while attempting to simultaneously free the small hand from her hair. “Hiii, baby," she murmured, acknowledging her daughter’s coos, “Yeah, that’s my hair. Can we let go of it, please?” 

Her voice always went up in pitch whenever she spoke to their daughter, something that never failed to make Chloe smile. Really, whenever she witnessed the two little loves of her life engaging in general, a grin wasn’t something Chloe ever managed to escape. They were the cutest, even when one was tugging on the other’s hair, not that Beca did any of the hair-pulling. However, not even Chloe could resist turning this interaction into a teaching moment. Even though their child was a bit young, she figured it was never too early for her to start teaching.

“Remember what we’ve been telling you about Santa?” Chloe asked, leaning in to press a few kisses to their baby’s cheek. She turned her head in response to the sound of her mother’s voice, reaching for her next. She had yet to let go of the baby and stocking, unable to bring herself to release them to hang on their own quite yet, regardless of her repetitive insistence that she would be fine. “Santa only brings lots of toys to reeeally good little girls and boys. So, we can’t do things like pull Momma’s hair. That hurts and isn’t nice.”

Feigning offense, Beca gasped dramatically and looked at Chloe, “You mean, Santa would bring her coal instead of toys? Just for that?” Looking back to their daughter, she shook her head and pouted for her. “No, he could never," she insisted, kissing her opposite cheek before doing the same to Chloe’s. Straightening, cute voice gone, Beca stated, “Alright, let’s get this over with, so we can get her out of this thing.” 

“You’re resistant now, but you’re going to love it,” Chloe told her, so certain of her words she reinforced them with a knowing look, causing Beca to roll her eyes. 

When it came to Beca and her copious amounts of denial, Chloe Beale was sure of a lot of things, the main one being her ability to prove her wife wrong. Over their many years as friends, as a dating couple, and as wives, Chloe had won Beca over on numerous occasions. Though it had all started with singing in the shower together one night — one night that happened to feel like centuries ago — life had managed to somehow come full circle in the most pleasant of ways. Their lives no longer consisted of Bella’s practices or a capella stage performances, but they did still put on shows in bathrooms while trying to get their little girl all clean. 

Beca continued her firm opposition with a shake of her head, “I love you and I love her, but I don’t love this idea.”

“Okay, we’re going to let you go now, but only for a few seconds. We gotta get a cute picture of you!” Chloe told their child, pressing a final kiss to her forehead before slowly starting to back away. Now that it was time for the moment of truth, even she was leery of fully letting her go, but Chloe tried not to let it show. Holding a hand out, she asked, “Can you hand me the camera, Becs?”

“Yeah.” Beca said, grabbing the device and turning it on before handing it over. Her eyes never left their daughter as she moved. She was ready to lunge if any strange or unwanted movement from the stocking occurred. 

“Look up here, sweetheart,” Chloe tried, carefully pulling her opposite hand away from the baby. The six-month-old squirmed in the confining space at the loss of contact, a small noise of discomfort escaping her lips. When her lower lip poked out, Beca reached for her stuffed owl rattle and shook it, vainly hoping it’d serve as a distraction. 

“Hey! Why are you crying, baby? You’re okay! Mommy just wants to take your picture. Can you smile for us? Can you show us your cute, little gums?” Beca encouraged, her voice reaching an even higher octave than last time, partially out of worry. She continued to shake the loud, plush toy while Chloe snapped away with the camera. By the fifth or six photo, it had gotten their daughter’s attention, but the look on her face wasn’t a happy one.

Her short, chubby arms were extended out towards Beca and Chloe, hopelessly reaching for her mothers. Tears were presently falling amidst occasional screams, but her lips had formed the _cutest_ little pout. It was just about all that could be seen of her given the stocking, making the whole scenario that much more sad, yet at the same time, also sweet and comical. 

It wasn’t what Chloe had initially been going for when she’d first come up with the idea, but _that_ right there, she decided in that moment, was the _perfect_ picture. 

“Okay, go get her,” Chloe laughed, a short, soft, guilty laugh, head inclined towards the baby. Beca immediately rushed to her side, freeing her from the stocking and hook prison. 

“I know, I know. That was painful. I’m sorry. Mommy’s kind of mean, but you do look so cute.” Wiping away her tear-stained cheeks, Beca returned to Chloe’s side, “Let’s check out the pictures. You wanna see yourself?” 

“Oh, this one’s good,” Chloe said, leaning over towards her wife. Beca rested her cheek against her shoulder, looking down at the small screen. She didn’t want to like it, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to think their daughter looked absolutely adorable hanging in her bright red and green stocking just above the fireplace, just as Chloe had suspected she would, but she did — even while in mid-scream. 

The brunette felt the corners of her lips tug upwards and ultimately gave into the emotion, unable to keep from smiling at the image. Still, even the joyous, warm feeling bubbling inside of her didn’t prevent a sarcastic comment from leaving Beca’s mouth next,  “’We hung our baby with care.’ What do you think? That just _screams_ Merry Christmas, to me.”

Chloe nudged Beca with her hip, shaking her head as she commented, “That’s terrible. We’re not writing that.” 

“Oh, we’re not?” Beca teased, “You have a better idea?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Chloe considered the picture. This time last year, there had been nothing but an empty space between each of their stockings that now hung on either side of their daughter’s along the mantle. For Beca and Chloe, starting a family hadn’t been easy, and there had been a time where Chloe wondered if, besides the company of themselves, they’d ever have one. Their road to motherhood was a triumph, one of the greatest of their lives, to say the least. Naturally, Chloe wanted the saying on this year’s Christmas card to accentuate that, “I was thinking something more along the lines of… ‘We traded in our silent nights for a bundle of joy’.” 

Beca’s smile grew as she turned her head and eyed Chloe, briefly studying her profile. She was glowing the same way she had been the day their little bundle of joy was born. Again, she didn’t _want_ to like the suggestion, but she totally did.

Freeing one of her hands, she found Chloe’s chin with her fingertips and guided it towards her own face. Closing her eyes, Beca kissed her lips, lingering until a small hand was patting her cheek. Pulling back some, she rested her forehead against her wife’s, their eyes meeting. “I love it,” she admitted, additionally taking their daughter’s hand. Glancing down to the baby in her arms, judging by the gummy smile on her face, Beca decided, “And I think she does, too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Check out more of my work at glitterprision.tumblr.com. Everything updates over there, first!


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